


(Take Me) In From The Cold

by RayShippouUchiha



Category: Bleach
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soul Society, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, BAMF Kurosaki Ichigo, BAMF Urahara Kisuke, Bad Parent Kurosaki Isshin, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hollows (Bleach), Hurt Kisuke, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Kuorsaki Isshin's A+ Parenting, M/M, My Canon Now Kubo, Onmitsukido Kisuke, Possessive Behavior, Protective Kurosaki Ichigo, Protective Urahara Kisuke, Romance, Rukongai, Temporary Blindness, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayShippouUchiha/pseuds/RayShippouUchiha
Summary: UraIchi Week 2020 Day 3: Different First Meeting“You’re safe,” Ichigo keeps up the soft mumbling, repeating the promise over and over again as he eases the man back down onto the ground.  “You’re safe, I promise.”Once the man’s laid back down on the forest floor, Ichigo finally lets his injured arm go.  Then he reaches his free hand up to brush that matted blond hair away from the man’s face as gently as he can.“You’re safe,” Ichigo whispers yet again unable to help the way something inside of him softens just a bit when the man turns his face into the palm of Ichigo’s hand with a low, animal-like whine.
Relationships: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke
Comments: 51
Kudos: 946
Collections: UraIchi Week 2020





	(Take Me) In From The Cold

Kisuke drags himself upright and manages to shift around enough to lean his back against the rough bark of a tree that he can’t see. He keeps one hand pressed against the hole in his side with what little strength he has left in a futile attempt to slow the bleeding. The other hand rests un-moving on his lap, little more than a useless lump of pain with the way his fingers are twisted and broken.

Every breath comes out in a wheeze and he has to bite back the stream of low, keening, animal-like noises that tremble on the tip of his tongue.

Kisuke is _Onmitsukidō_ after all and they do not cry out, not even in death.

 _Especially_ not in death.

And, make no mistake, he _is_ dying.

Kisuke knows that for the truth that it is.

Solid and unshakable.

He can feel it creeping closer with every shuddering breath he takes, can feel his life slipping away between his fingers as the side of his shihakusho grows ever wetter with each passing second.

Like the second prick from Suzumebachi, but without the brutal beauty of the _Hōmonka_ blossoming across his skin, death has found Kisuke again at last.

His reiryoku is too low to employ even the most basic of the few healing kidō he knows and there will be no rescue or search party to look forward to either. That is, of course, not the Onmitsukidō way.

To need rescue is to have failed in one’s assigned duties. And, for an agent of the Onmitsukidō, _death_ will always come long before failure.

Even wounded, Kisuke had still completed his assignment though. He’d survived the ambush that had been laying in wait for him and then he’d chased his shockingly fleet-footed target far out into the outer districts of the Rukongai.

Then, when the opportunity had finally presented itself, Kisuke had struck fast and _deep_.

But, in the end, Kisuke’s body had paid the price for such a long, drawn out affair.

And no matter how far he drags his broken body back the way he came it will never be far enough.

So Kisuke is going to die here, alone in the outer reaches of the Rukongai and far from Yoruichi-sama’s side. His life ended by a mission that should have, by all rights, been relatively simple.

He will not be mourned.

Kisuke knows this, accepts this, expects it even.

Likely not even Yoruichi-sama, who has already begun to turn from him, will think on his loss for long.

Kisuke has never been comfortable with people, has always been just a shade off right and _stunted_ in some way even for Onmitsukidō, but he’s always been far from foolish.

Yoruichi-sama has long since begun to willfully erase what little familiarity and closeness their positions have allowed them with one another over time. She’s been pushing him further and further away for years now even as her eyes are ever drawn towards Suì-fēng, the vicious wisp of a girl who loathes Kisuke for holding the place she’s already stolen from him.

There will be no one else willing to mourn Kisuke, to mourn yet another bit of Rukongai gutter trash that’s finally been returned to its rightful place.

But then, well, Kisuke never really thought there would be anyways.

Head tipping back against the bark of the tree, Kisuke turns unseeing eyes towards the sky and does his best to breathe.

The pinpricks of light that have been all Kisuke’s been able to see for hours now finally begin to fade. What’s left of his world going dark as black closes in around the edges.

It won’t be long now.

~~~

Ichigo grimaces, face twisting with a brief sneer of disgust, as he flicks bits of hollow off of the sleeve of his yukata.

No matter how many times it’s happened in the past, or how many times he’s sure it’ll happen in the future, Ichigo _hates_ getting splattered with blood and guts.

What’s worse is the fact that this was his last semi-decent yukata and that last batch of hollows he’d exterminated were exceptionally _messy_.

Which means, of course, that he’s going to have to make a trip to one of the more inner districts for supplies sooner than he'd planned. Which, with one exception, is never something he particularly enjoys even if he knows it’s necessary.

Then again, Ichigo admits ruefully, that’s what he gets for trying out new techniques in the middle of a hollow cluster.

He should have known better, no matter how much Zangetsu bitched and moaned or quietly snipped about being _bored._

Ichigo’s notoriously irritable zanpakutō just hums lowly at Ichigo's pointed thoughts, a smug sort of amusement echoing back to him from the depths of his soul.

“Asshole,” Ichigo murmurs to the night air, no actual heat or anger in his tone. Zangetsu is, after all, his eternal companion and pretty much his best and only real friend at this point.

In the end a messy yukata well always be a small price to pay for keeping his zanpakutō content and the hollow numbers in the area slightly more manageable.

Plus it’s not like Ichigo actually has much else to do.

So, with one last sigh, Ichigo pulls his arms out of his yukata. He lets the bloody top fall down to his waist to be held up only by his sloppily knotted obi, and then bends down to pick up his bag. He slings the rough, thick canvas sack over one shoulder, flicks his braid back over the other, and then turns his attention towards heading back out of the forest at a leisurely pace.

He’s in no real rush to get home.

It’s not like there’s anyone there waiting on him anyways.

Might as well enjoy the post-fight calm and the serenity of the forest while he can.

~~~

Ichigo’s been walking for almost an hour when the wind shifts and his senses automatically perk up.

 _Blood_.

Fresh enough to overpower the scent of the night jasmine and leave the breeze thick and heavy with the taste of it.

Ichigo can’t help but be curious even as Zangetsu stirs just a bit in interest as well.

This part of the forest is still a good ways out from the nearest settled area of this district. And for all of the times Ichigo’s work has brought him out this far he’s never encountered another person in the area out in the area by their own choice.

So, odds are, that means it's either someone up to no good of some kind or someone who needs his help for one reason or another.

And, given the number of hollow attacks that have been reported at the nearest village, Ichigo’s banking on it being the later.

But, either way, that much spilled blood just means Ichigo needs to investigate.

An irritated scowl tugging at the corners of his mouth, Ichigo tightens his grip on his bag, turns towards the thickest concentration of blood scent, and _steps_.

Shunpo is, probably, one of the most useful things _the bastard_ had ever crammed down Ichigo’s throat back in the day.

Of course, after everything else he'd done in the process, Ichigo would rather _die_ than ever actually thank the goat fucker for it.

But still, the point does remain. Shunpo truly is beyond useful.

Ichigo flickers to a stop just outside of a small clearing, one he knows for a fact wasn’t there a day or so before. He drops his bag down to rest against the trunk of a nearby tree and then, one hand moving to rest on Zangetsu’s hilt, steps forward.

There’s obviously been a battle of some kind. Even if the blood scent wasn’t enough to clue Ichigo in on that fact the clearing itself would be. The small, almost perfectly circular section of forest has been absolutely _decimated_.

There’s only the remnants of a handful of shattered trees, some scorched grass and lingering ash in a few places, and the distinct feel in the air that comes from a high level kidō being used recently.

Which, much to Ichigo's irritation, means only one thing.

 _Shinigami_.

For a split second Ichigo debates on turning around, on leaving whatever idiot that’s managed to wander out this far to their own devices. Whatever they’ve done to get themselves into such a mess isn’t his business and Ichigo would honestly like to keep it that way. The last thing he needs or wants is some Shinigami taking an interest in him and sniffing around his life.

He should just leave. Go home, clean up, and catalog what he’s going to need to do the next day. The same tried and true routine that he's stuck to for ages now.

Zangetsu grumbles a sullen sort of agreement in the back of his head even as Ichigo steps further into the clearing.

Eyes scanning over the clearing Ichigo’s attention is caught by a small flutter of color. Turning just a bit to his right it only takes Ichigo a few seconds to spot the body leaned up against one of the trees on the far side of the clearing.

That decides his next course of action without another doubt and Zangetsu doesn’t bother to do more than half-heartedly hiss in a resigned sort of irritation.

They both knew leaving was never an option for Ichigo once he saw someone laying there. That’s not who he is or what he does.

Ichigo doesn’t leave people behind.

Not even the dead.

The body, obviously male as far as Ichigo can tell, is dressed in all black with a mask covering the lower half of his face. It helps him to blend in all too well with the dark bark and thick shadows of the trees. If it wasn’t for that pale blond hair catching what little light there is Ichigo likely would have missed him.

But the more important detail is the fact that Ichigo knows that uniform. Anyone with even a passing knowledge of how the Gotei 13 and Seireitei as a whole operates knows that uniform.

 _Onmitsukido_.

Which means that Ichigo should _absolutely_ not get involved with whatever this is.

But now that he’s had a moment to look, Ichigo can easily see just how battered and broken the man’s body looks.

There are tatters, tears, and outright holes in his clothes, there’s even a gash tearing through the edge of the mask high up on the right side. The visible skin around his eyes looks raw and irritated, blisters half formed across the delicate skin. One hand, bare from the wrist down, is obviously shattered, skin purple and fingers sitting at odd angles. The other hand, splayed out palm upwards on the forest floor beside him, is covered in still wet blood that gleams almost black in the low light.

Someone or something had obviously been very unkind to this assassin before his death.

And that just means that now Ichigo is doubly curious.

The lingering energy in the air added to the fact that his body hasn’t dissipated yet means that Ichigo must have missed the fight that killed him by a pretty narrow window.

“Poor bastard,” Ichigo murmurs as he steps closer. He might not be able to do anything for this dead Shinigami but the least he can do is see if there’s any kind of identification on the body. He knows a few places he could drop something off at or a few ears he could whisper into that would get word of the man’s death back to Seireitei. Onmitsukido or not Ichigo's tip off will make sure that anyone who might miss this man won’t be left wondering.

It’s only when he’s moved close enough to crouch down beside the body, one hand outstretched, that Ichigo realizes he’s made a mistake.

This close he can see the shallow rise and fall of the man’s chest, can see the slight flush on his cheeks below the blisters and feel the candle-like flickering of his reiatsu, just barely high enough for Ichigo’s senses to register it.

“Shit,” Ichigo curses, low and harsh, hand automatically moving up and fingers dipping beneath blood and sweat matted blond hair to rest against the man’s forehead.

Ichigo has a split second to feel obviously fever flushed skin scorching the palm of his hand and then everything changes.

A blood soaked hand clamps down on his wrist with surprising strength.

Ichigo’s eyes dart upwards from where he's been tracking the unsteady rise and fall of the man's breathing and instantly lock with a pair of wild metal gray.

For a split second there’s silence.

And then the man _moves_.

Face twisted in a snarl Ichigo can see even through his tattered mask, the man lunges up and forward, the hand wrapped around Ichigo’s wrist tightening and pulling him forwards all in the same motion.

The man’s other hand, fingers still twisted and broken, comes up beside him, palm glowing with a tiny sputtering ball of energy that’s aimed directly for Ichigo’s heart.

The man’s _fast_ for someone in such bad condition but Ichigo is, at least at the moment, faster.

He wrenches his captured wrist free, reversing the grip until he has the man by one elbow, and then brings his free hand around to capture the other arm. He grabs that arm by the elbow too, unwilling to put any sort of pressure on the man’s basically destroyed hand.

The kidō spell in the man’s palm flickers and then fades out seconds later.

Ichigo’s left there, practically nose to nose with a three quarters dead Shinigami that just tried to tear his heart out with what he’s pretty sure was, technically, a low level thrust kidō.

It’s actually kind of impressive.

“Hey,” Ichigo calls, trying to get the man's attention to focus in on him more solidly. “Hey, calm down.”

Across from him, arms still trapped in Ichigo’s grip, the man snarls again, the sound weak and stuttering, and does his best to get loose.

“Come on,” Ichigo coaxes even as the man thrashes feebly in his hold, hazy gray eyes moving frantically but never actually focusing on anything. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Still the man struggles and once again Ichigo can smell fresh blood. He can tell that all the man’s really doing is making his wound worse.

If Ichigo doesn’t do something this stranger is going to thrash himself to death right there in Ichigo’s arms.

Huffing out a rough sigh Ichigo decides to take a chance.

Hands still locked around the man’s elbows, Ichigo leans forward and presses his forehead against the fever flushed man’s.

The man abruptly goes still, all movements freezing, and Ichigo sees those hazy eyes go even wider somehow.

“You’re safe,” Ichigo practically whispers, aiming for a soft, soothing sort of tone he hasn’t really had the occasion to use in ages. “I’ve got you now and I’m gonna keep you safe so _settle down_.”

Beneath Ichigo’s hands the man _trembles_ and then, like a puppet with its strings cut, abruptly goes limp in Ichigo’s hold.

“You’re safe,” Ichigo keeps up the soft mumbling, repeating the promise over and over again as he eases the man back down onto the ground. “You’re safe, I promise.”

Once the man’s laid back down on the forest floor, Ichigo finally lets his injured arm go. Then he reaches his free hand up to brush that matted blond hair away from the man’s face as gently as he can.

“You’re safe,” Ichigo whispers yet again unable to help the way something inside of him softens just a bit when the man turns his face into the palm of Ichigo’s hand with a low, animal-like whine.

Ichigo sits there for a long moment,hovering over the body laid out beneath him, fingertips stroking carefully over the man’s temple. It’s the only undamaged, bare part of his face and Ichigo’s soft touch seems to be soothing him so Ichigo keeps it up until his still shallow breathing evens out as unconsciousness reaches up and reclaims him.

Once Ichigo’s completely sure he’s out and seems likely to stay that way this time, Ichigo sits back on his heels and groans just a bit.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ichigo rasps, a hand coming up to grind the heel of his palm between his eyes. “ _Fuck_.”

He gives himself a second, only a second, and then he leans forwards again, hand lighting up with a flare of reiryoku so potent and strong it almost looks like Ichigo is holding a flame. Healing kidō might not be something he’s too well versed in but reiryoku transfers are something he can do with some effort.

Ichigo reaches out and presses his palm directly over the man’s heart and concentrates. His first instinct is, as always, to simply pour as much reiryoku as he can summon into the man, but in this at least Ichigo knows better.

So, brow furrowed in concentration, Ichigo does as best he can to only let small sips of his reiryoku filter into the man’s system. Ichigo wants to share his strength, his energy and vitality with the man to keep him going, not cause his system to overload and rupture.

Much to Ichigo’s relief, it only takes a few seconds before his impromptu patient is breathing just a bit easier.

At least this way, with his reserves bolstered just a bit by dense and potent reiryoku, he should make it through Ichigo carrying him back home.

“Well Zangetsu,” Ichigo mutters even as he shifts to hook a arm beneath the man’s knees and the other around his shoulders, “looks like we’ll be having a guest for a while.”

Zangetsu just hums, low and _curious_ but not otherwise displeased by the idea.

They've never really had guests before so this should be an _experience_ all the way around.

Ichigo takes a moment to bend down awkwardly and grab his bag, unwilling to leave so much hard work behind. Then, the canvas strap dangling from his fingers, Ichigo adjusts his hold on his cargo so that the man’s face is tucked more securely into the crook of his neck.

Even with the mask on, Ichigo can feel the way the man’s breath flutters warm and soft against the vulnerable line of his throat.

It's strange, being so close to someone again after so long. The last time he'd held someone like this, so close and securely, had been ...

Ichigo abruptly shakes the thought off. Now isn't the time or the place.

He's got more important issues to deal with at the moment than his own personal problems.

So, with the battered stranger tucked securely in his arms, Ichigo _steps_.

He leaves the forest and the blood soaked clearing far behind them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to let me know what you think and stop by and check out the story tag In From The Cold AU
> 
> http://rayshippouuchiha.tumblr.com/


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